


The Luck O' The Irish! :)

by BradyGirl_12



Category: Bridge Of Spies
Genre: 1960s, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Related, Cold War, Drama, Gen, Irish-Americans, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irish-American lawyer Jim Donovan celebrates his heritage and (hopefully) success as he waits on the Glienicke Bridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Luck O' The Irish! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: For _Bridge Of Spies (2015)_  
>  Original LJ Date Of Completion: February 3, 2016  
> Original LJ Date Of Posting: February 9, 2016  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DreamWorks Pictures and Amblin Entertainment do, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 661  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.

  
_The green_  
_Of the Emerald Isle,_  
_Is so striking_  
_That even_  
_Its enemies_  
_Cannot revile._

_Blarney is_  
_Spoken here_  
_By Irishmen_  
_Without fear._

_‘Tis a grand day_  
_To be Irish!_  


  


**"The Irish Heart"**  
**William Merry O’Day**  
**1801 C.E.**

_The Irish Mafia Rules!_

Jim Donovan suppressed a smile. He doubted that looking ready to dance a jig would go over well right now.

Standing here at 5:15 before the sun was up on the Glienicke Bridge that served as the link between East and West, Jim and his fellow Americans waited for the Soviets to show up. The exchange was set for 5:30.

It was a high-level exchange that he had been instrumental in negotiating. He pounded his gloved hands together to ward off the chill. If it all went according to plan, they would be handing over Soviet spy Rudolf Abel for American U-2 pilot Francis Gary Powers, and American college student Frederic Pryor from the East Germans over at Checkpoint Charlie. 

_Two-for-one._

It was a heady time to be Irish-American. One of the Tribe was in the White House, and Jack Kennedy’s brother Bobby was the Attorney General, top cop in the land. He, Jim Donovan, was waiting for Powers, whose friend Murphy was waiting to identify his buddy.

_We’re everywhere. Guess I shouldn’t be so put out that the country club back home doesn’t allow Catholics,_ he thought wryly. 

Instead he was in the middle of Germany, smack dab in the middle of the Cold War. He had seen what life was like in East Berlin, and he was anxious to get home.

The whole scene was surreal. Lights illuminated the bridge as snipers on both sides trained their rifles at the ready. At one end of the bridge was the American sector of Berlin and at the other end was Potsdam.

The Soviets were now waiting, too. Jim glanced at his watch. 5:20.

_Our generation’s in charge now. We fought our wars as soldiers and now we’re the statesmen._

Jim liked the idea of being in the middle of all this, standing on the bridge on a cold Saturday morning on February 10, 1962, as an historic exchange was about to take place. He adjusted his coat collar.

_Yeah, and my coat’s from Saks Fifth Avenue, just like my old one._

He hoped that the East German toughs who had taken his other coat were getting good use out of it. That had been a harrowing moment as he had walked into East Berlin in order to meet with the Abels’ lawyer at the Soviet Embassy. Wearing another coat from the capitalist clothier was his own private middle finger to the East Germans and the other Communists on this drab morning. 

_If the price of getting the deal done is only my coat, I’ll only have to bill the Government for that and cold medicine. See what Jack Kennedy says about **that!**_

He coughed, the sound echoing off the steel girders. It would serve the Government right if he did bill it for the latter. The room they had given him in which to sleep was little better than the East German prison he had spent one night in during the crazy negotiations.

A car pulled up on their side. Abel was in the back seat.

_I’m not overconfident, but I’m sure this will come off. Don’t go off half-cocked like the stereotypical Irishman._

Abel was getting out of the car. Jim was looking forward to a final conversation with the amiable spy.

_This is going to happen. My generation is making things happen._

Heady stuff, indeed. Hopefully not too many mistakes made due to nuclear weapons, but this was his generation’s time to make their mark.

 _With a little help from those descended from the Auld Sod,_ Jim thought with a smile as he greeted Rudolf Abel warmly. _We’ve come a long way from those Irish Need Not Apply signs._

The Luck o’ the Irish would hold.


End file.
